


Beta Mine

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta/Omega, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Season/Series 02, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: My entry for the 2019 A/B/O Hannigram Big Bang. I was lucky enough to be paired with the divinemaydeiwho has  created two fabulous pieces for the fic - a gorgeous banner and a sexy-as-hell manip which you can find embedded in the fic.I'mfragile-teacupon Tumblr and Twitter. Drop by for a visit any time!Beta Mine is canon divergent, playing around with scenes featured in Yakimono and Su-Zakana. It's also shameless wish-fulfilment. I hope you enjoy it! I live for comments, so please let me know what you think! And do also leave some love for maydei's beautiful work. :)FANNIBALFAMILYFOREVER!





	Beta Mine

**Author's Note:**

> And finally, I want to say a big THANK YOU to my lovely friends [zacharybosch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacharybosch/pseuds/zacharybosch) and [Weconqueratdawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weconqueratdawn/pseuds/Weconqueratdawn) for suggesting a) that it would be interesting to explore Hannigram with one of them as a Beta and b) that Hannibal as the Beta would be particulariy fitting. You made this fic happen, my dears!

**Baltimore, Maryland. Hannibal Lecter’s kitchen. Nine pm.**

The crisp staccato of Oxfords on tile, a jangle of keys hitting marble. A glass swiped from the worktop as an elegant hand reaches for the refrigerator door. Every movement clean, economical.

_I see you, Doctor. Putting on a show, perfecting the routine. Your own severest critic. What would it take to smash that marvellous self-control?_

Fingers clench around the butt of the gun, freshly reclaimed. A comfort in the familiar.

_Nice of Jack to let it go so easily._

But then maybe this is exactly what Jack had in mind when he made free with Miriam Lass’s address. After all, it makes sense that her warning - that the Chesapeake Ripper isn’t done with them yet, that their freedom is illusory - would bring Will here, picking locks and crouching in shadow, lawbreaking when he can still count the hours since his release from federal custody.

The hand on the refrigerator door stills, and the doctor’s sleek head cocks slightly.

‘The same unfortunate aftershave.’ No fear in those refined tones. If anything, a hint of derision. 

Will swallows a snarl, moves into the light. 

‘Too long in the bottle.’ It’s an insolent reminder of battles fought and lost. An insolent smile of welcome. 

_Here we are again._

Will wants to spit nails but he’s strangely caught in the moment. What will the good doctor do when he sees that this time it’s not a bottle of wine he’s come clutching? Reason? Threaten? Seduce? Probably not the latter. Not now, with those soft hands already full. Damn Alana and her polite Beta flirtations. Of course, in all likelihood it’s gone far beyond that point now. _I thought she was so level-headed._ Hates that it’s not _Alana_ he seethes over when he thinks of them together. Yet they are, in every way but one, a perfect match. Hannibal and _Will_? Not so much.

As if to reclaim his attention, Hannibal pulls open the refrigerator door, for all the world the solicitous host. Irritated by his wayward thoughts, Will raises his gun, deliberate and unblinking in the light streaming garish on their little tableau. It’s almost funny how quickly the genial smile evaporates, though there’s little else to suggest discomposure in the man framed by glinting steel.

‘Our last kitchen conversation was interrupted by Jack Crawford.’ Hannibal's voice is measured. ‘I’d like to pick up where we left off.’ A wry question in amber brings a rising flush to Will’s cheeks. _Damn you._ ‘If memory serves, you were asking me if it would feel good to kill you.’

‘You’ve given that some thought.’

The doctor’s practically purring. This will not do. The upper hand is not his to claim. Not this time.

‘You wanted me to embrace my nature, Doctor.’ Sullenness lilts the rehearsed phrases, an exchange of words that he memorised over empty months. ‘I’m just following the urges I kept down for so long, cultivating them as the inspirations they are.’

Seethes at the memory of breath stirring hot against his skin. Of whispered conversation and an unfamiliar dance brought to an untimely end. Now here they are, enmeshed in intimacy again. 

‘You never answered my question.’ _Brazen._ ‘How would killing me make you feel?’

‘Righteous.’

Finger on the trigger in more ways than one. To crack the facade, peel away sophistication and pretence. The stoic Beta, making a show of fear. _What would you look like, unmade?_

‘Aren’t you curious, Will? Why you? Why Miriam Lass? What does the Chesapeake Ripper want with you?’

‘Oh, you tell me.’ A throwaway line, but as gazes hold, flippancy wavers. _Please. Tell me._ And for just a moment, truth seems almost possible between them. Until the silence stretches too long. Tries another tack. ‘How did Miriam Lass find you? You made sure no one could find you that way again.’

 _Clumsy._ Glancing blows shrugged off with practised ease.

‘If I’m not the Ripper, you murder an innocent man. You, better than anyone, know what it means to be wrongly accused.’ The doctor sets down his empty glass, tone just the right side of aggrieved. ‘ _You_ were innocent and no one saw it.’

_Yeah, except..._

‘Oh, I’m not innocent. You saw to that.’ Spitting razorblades now.

‘If I am the Ripper and you kill me, who will answer your questions? Don’t you want to know how this ends?’

 _The nerve. The unmitigated nerve._ Pulls from him a reluctant huff of laughter. He’s hectic with it. Reckless in the flush of it. Because this isn’t about endings…

‘You know. Don’t you? What I am?’’ 

A rare blink covers momentary surprise. ‘Yes, of course.’ 

Omega. Unmated. Unawoken. Untroubled by any damned biological imperative. Exactly how Will has always wanted it. Until...

His lips tilt in a snarl and he surges forward. ’That’s not all, though, is it, Doctor? What else?’ Clicks the safety off as he glares down the barrel. So close to that smooth temple. ‘ _What else_?’

Someone swallows. A dry click in the silence that hums. 

‘You wanted me. In Minnesota.’ Drops an octave. ‘You were wet for me.’

There it is. Will shudders a sigh, finger easing off the trigger. ‘I was.’ 

A slow turn, amber eyes caressing. ‘Frederick Chilton wanted to make you his. He kept you from me.’

‘Frederick is not a threat.’ 

A flash of teeth. ‘Not any more.’

Will brings one hand up, runs the backs of his fingers down Hannibal’s cold cheek. _What have you done_? ‘You think I would spread my legs for him because he’s an Alpha?’

_You think I’ve wanted anyone else since that night?_

The monster’s eyes soften. ‘A terrible thing, to desire that which spells our destruction.’

Will clicks his tongue. ‘So melodramatic.’

Broad hands frame his face, slide to cup his jaw. ‘Do you want me still?’ A whisper teases warmth across his lips. ‘Are you wet for me now?’

Despite everything? ‘Yes.’ _Fuck._ ‘Yes.’

A moan as mouths connect for the first time. The gun is tossed aside; its only casualty, the fragile wine glass. 

‘Is this why you got me out? To get me off?’ 

A stinging bite in admonishment. 

Will just grins, seizes Hannibal’s hand and guides it down. Licks clean the smear of copper from his lip. ‘I never saw you coming, you know?’

Closes his eyes and pushes back against fingers that rub across the soaked material of his pants. 

‘Nor I, you.’ It’s a lustful growl. ‘Fearful boy.’

Halfway up the stairs, Will pauses, twists, fingers knitting in the thick folds of Hannibal’s overcoat. ‘This thing with Alana - it stops now.’

‘You are not doing this for Alana, I hope.’

Lips press lingering to his neck and he arches with a sigh. 

‘Assuredly not.’

‘Very well, then.’

The scent of Will’s slick rises, permeating the air which is ripe now with expectation rather than fear. Hannibal’s inhale is subtle but unmistakable, and Will huffs a sharp laugh. 

‘Do I pass muster?’

Feels with a shiver the slow draw of Hannibal’s nose against his jawline, and his eyes flutter closed.

‘You are exquisite.’

Will avoids the temptation to preen. Words have dripped, honeyed, from those lips before. Praise. Promises of support. Protestations of friendship. All believed without question. Cherished, even. _And look where that got me._

Anger bites, clearing a little of the haze, and clinging hands grip with more purpose now than want. Jerks his head back.

‘Don’t,’ he grits, meeting Hannibal’s gaze head on, ‘flatter me.’

‘You think me insincere?’

‘I think it doesn’t matter. I’m not here for validation, Doctor.’

Pursed lips and a calculating stare. ‘Nor, apparently, are you here to kill me.’

‘Apparently not.’ Drawled as Will trails one hand down between them, fingers skating over Hannibal’s half-hard cock. 

A memory. Freed from his cage and circled by a night predator. ‘ _Imagine if the hawks started working together._ ’ Matthew Brown, Alphan arousal cloying and obvious. Boringly predictable. 

This - this is novel. To have to _work_ for it. Earn it. He flattens his hand. Strokes experimentally up and down, and the indrawn breath he pulls from the doctor pleases him inordinately. So he does it again. Smirks as flesh fills against his palm, warm through layers of fine material. 

‘What, then?’ To his credit, Hannibal manages to maintain his habitual air of insouciance. More or less. 

Will shrugs, touch falling away, and turns to continue up the stairs. Doesn’t bother looking back. 

‘Curiosity, maybe.’

A hand, light on his shoulder, thumb brushing gentle against his mating gland. 

‘Why me? Why a Beta?’

‘I think the bigger question is why a serial killer, but basically, yeah.’

Hannibal’s low rumble of laughter shouldn’t feel good, vibrating against his back; shouldn’t diffuse the anger which has coated his heart like tar. 

A pause on the landing. Unknown territory, this. Disconcerting, too. 

‘What - is that?’

‘Samurai.’

‘It’s looking at me.’

Allows himself to be tugged gently past, through a room swathed in shadows of blue and grey, towards the biggest and most luxuriant bed he’s ever seen. No time to question, to second-guess. Lips on his throat, jacket yanked from his shoulders, urged back onto velveteen and Egyptian cotton. Pinned and admired. 

_I’m not your fucking specimen, Doctor._

Bares his teeth. ‘What now? Do you expect me to flutter my lashes and say, ‘Take me’?’

Hannibal looms, smile dark. ‘You have long since exceeded my expectations, Will. I know you will not disappoint me.’

Will rises to his knees, his stare a belligerent challenge. He untangles himself from his jacket; casts it carelessly to the floor just to see the momentary flicker of displeasure in Hannibal’s eyes. 

‘You can touch me.’ He pauses, flicks his tongue across his lips. ‘Once.’ 

Hannibal’s brows quirk. ‘One touch?’

‘One place.’

Will’s cock is achingly hard. Slick slides warm down his thighs, anticipation shallowing his breathing: of fingers stroking his shaft, seeking the sensitive rim behind, stretching him wide. And Hannibal’s arousal is no less apparent, erection outlined clearly through the wool of his pants.

So it’s a complete surprise when Hannibal reaches out and brushes the curls from Will’s eyes with a gentleness reminiscent of their earliest interactions. A gentleness Will didn’t even realise he had missed. He stills as fingertips comb through hair grown shaggy from neglect, the light touch sparking shivers. These hands. That had pressed a reassuring touch to his shoulder when he had agreed to protect Abigail. That had wrapped a warming blanket around his trembling form when encephalitis had bitten hard. 

That had squeezed the life from Beverly and countless others.

‘Beautiful.’ A single curl is pulled gently, stretched straight and then released. ‘Breathtaking.’

And suddenly Will can’t bear it. _What the fuck am I doing?_

He jerks back with a hiss, rejection in every line. Stares brutal accusation at Hannibal, who looks back with an expression of perturbation that is quickly masked. Heart pounding, blood cold, Will scrambles from the bed, grabs his jacket and stumbles from the room. From the shadows. From _him._ And doesn’t look back. 

***

Cat and mouse with Miriam Lass. A splendidly ridiculous frame job on Chilton. Incredible how much damage can be wrought in a couple of days. 

_My fault?_

Will seethes and simmers and dials up his barber.

***

**Baltimore, Maryland. Hannibal Lecter’s office. Seven-thirty pm.**

Five raps, evenly spaced. Firm but not strident. Respectful, just the right side of apologetic. 

_Any second._

Thoughts of their last encounter twist Will’s insides and he swivels away to compose himself. His eyes flick over Japanese paintings he’s seen before but never noticed. Innocuous. Esoteric. Ukiyo-e. Pretty geishas, coy and cunning. 

The irony isn’t lost on him.

Measured footsteps, the click of a door handle. 

‘Hello, Will.’

Closes his eyes against the rough-smooth cadence, schools his expression and turns slowly. Almost disarming, the sight of Hannibal in casual clothing. _But I know better._ Still, it’s hard not to recall how that smooth jaw felt beneath his fingers, the taste of those sensual lips. 

The coat draped over Will’s arm was intended to convey nonchalance. But right now it feels like a shield. _If he touches me…_ Even the thought speeds his pulse, heats his cheeks. 

‘May I come in?’ Husky. _Damn._

Hannibal purses his lips and makes a show of considering. Just a show? Difficult to read. No handy Alpha scent to betray true intentions. It’s unsettling.

Finally, mildly, ‘Do you intend to point a gun at me?’

Despite the ever-present anger lying heavy in his gut, Will permits a rueful smile. There’s something to be admired about determined stoicism. 

‘Not tonight.’ Saunters forward. Can’t resist the temptation to angle an impudent brow at his host. 

Thinks of Dante as he steps into the shadowed room. Assailed by echoes of conversations past, he moves carefully through the space, breathing fractured as fragments of emotion catch and cling. The air carries a weight of expectancy. The dim lights hum with it, filling the silent spaces. Will frowns. 

‘Are you expecting someone?’

The idea that _another_ might have claimed the vacant hour that once belonged to _him_ tastes bitter on Will’s tongue. 

‘Only you.’

Guilty relief. The quiet possessiveness sets Will’s heart thumping. _Careful._ Such treacherous satisfaction is double-edged. He avoids Hannibal’s gaze, moves further away. Deeper into the lair.

‘You kept my standing appointment open?’ One half of him shies away from the implication. The other half preens.

‘And you’re right on time.’ 

The words curl and rise, a smoky caress. Will _feels_ Hannibal draw closer, to within touching distance, and keeps his back stubbornly turned, although he can’t prevent a long, drawn-out sigh.

‘I have to deal with you. And my feelings about you.’

_I’m a good fisherman, Jack._

Too good. Caught now in a net of his own design. Two nights of fitful sleeping, of aching dreams. Clenches his jaw and pushes on. ‘I think it’s best that I do that directly.’

It’s the hand on his nape that threatens to undo him. A whisper of touch that feels like a brand, tracing across skin newly exposed. 

‘First you have to grieve for what is lost.’

Will tenses. He’s lost so much. Abigail. Beverly. Trust in the one person who seemed really to _get_ him… But Hannibal’s fingers soothe and gentle, and the chill of loneliness eases its grip. Anger ebbs. Will tips his head back, closes his eyes. A warm chest brushes against his back; an arm slips around his waist, palm pressing flat to his belly, thumb stroking possessively. _Anchor in the storm._ But to keep him afloat or drag him under?

‘And what has changed.’

Mutual attraction, once acknowledged, cannot be unlearned. The velvet purr against his ear reawakens a terrible desire that has pulsed steady through his system for months, an addiction fed by drawled words and touches of crafted innocence. Slick pools between his thighs and Hannibal tightens his hold. _You can smell me, can’t you._ Swallows down a whimper and twists, fierce, to knot his fingers in soft wool.

‘ _I’ve_ changed.’ Nose to nose. Accusing. ‘You’ve changed me.’

And suddenly a lifetime of control is over. Beta or no, monster or man, he wants this. Wants _Hannibal_. 

Still, the light of triumph in dark eyes inflames him. He walks Hannibal backwards, pushing insistently, though there’s no resistance. This pull has claimed them _both_. Shoves Hannibal down into the nearest armchair. _These fucking chairs._ Straddles the smirking Beta, knees digging in to pristine leather, and clamps his hands on the armrests. It’s an effective cage. But Hannibal doesn’t attempt to move. Just observes, lips quirked, curious. It will not do. Will fumes and narrows his eyes. A sudden spiteful urge to see those aristocratic cheekbones splotched with pink. To scrape away the layers of reserve until all that’s left is messy, breathless need. He draws his own bottom lip between his teeth, slicks it and releases. The result is gratifying, complacency replaced by a flare of hunger, eyes of umber burning with unmistakable demand. Will leans in, and with his tongue tip traces the pout of Hannibal’s lips. They part immediately. _Wanton._ Fits his mouth to Hannibal’s, too greedy to prolong the tease. No sharp rebuke of teeth now. This kiss lingers. Deepens, as Will grinds down and Hannibal bucks up. They rub and rut like teens, Will’s slick sweetening the air. 

Will’s never seen a Beta cock. Wants to now. Wants it badly, hands trembling as he reaches between them. The zipper sticks and he breaks the kiss to swear softly. Evades Hannibal’s impatiently seeking mouth and slides to the floor, onto his knees, between Hannibal’s legs. _Better._ His fingers seek pink, hard flesh to stroke and admire. No bulging Alpha’s knot. Here is all smooth length and beaded pre-come. _Beautiful._ Wants to taste it. He leans in, but when he’s millimetres away he stops and glances slyly up at Hannibal. _His_ turn now to grip the arms of the chair, stare molten and breathing quickened. 

Will isn’t sure what he’s waiting for until he hears it.

‘The friendship that we had is over.’ Hannibal pauses, voice roughening. ‘The Chesapeake Ripper is over.’ A vow. The trading of one kind of life for another. An alternate universe of sorts, Will’s for the taking. 

He laughs softly, the farce of the last couple of days fresh in his mind. _Poor Frederick._ ‘Had to be Miriam, didn’t it. She was compelled to take his life so she could take her own back.’ No need for Hannibal to know that somehow, the stubborn fuck had managed to survive. Not _yet_ anyway.

His monster’s gaze is covetous. ‘How will you take _your_ life back?’

Will hums, nuzzles the side of Hannibal’s cock, swipes his tongue across the slit, looks up. ‘I’d like to resume my therapy.’

The tiniest snarl. _How could I ever have thought you tame?_ ‘Where shall we begin?’

Will considers taking that marvellous cock into his mouth. The logical next step. Obvious. Ordinary. _They_ are anything but. _Skipping_ steps is more their forte. His body thrums with the instinctive need to be mounted, filled. To know at last what it is to be possessed. To be claimed. Totally understandable. Typically Omegan. 

‘I want you to fuck me.’ Waits a beat, just long enough for Hannibal’s lips to curve in the beginnings of a satisfied smile. ‘But I think you’ve done more than your fair share of that already. My turn now.’

Amber eyes darken to obsidian. ‘Quid pro quo?’

‘If you like.’

He won’t force it, but god, he _wants_ it. The thought of shoving Hannibal face down over his desk and fucking him until he comes all over his fancy floor... Hannibal’s cock pulses pre-come. Will bends his head to it and suckles, worshipful, until he’s yanked off by a fist in his hair. Fingertips pet mournfully.

‘Did you cut it to spite me?’ 

‘Hm. To play with you, perhaps.’ 

‘Playtime’s over,’ Hannibal growls, and Will laughs, breathless.

He stands and tugs Hannibal up. 

‘Go to the desk.’ Wants to be brusque but it comes out needy. Almost a whine. Slick trickles wantonly down his thighs. Maybe it’s an early heat? 

_It’s not a heat. It’s Hannibal._

Hannibal stalks past. Snares Will’s hand, catching him by surprise. His fingers, tangling with Will’s, are warm. Will finds himself following, suppliant. Rests his free palm against the centre of Hannibal’s back. Odd, the comfort in shifting muscles, radiating warmth. When Hannibal stops, thighs just touching the desk, Will’s thoughts stutter to a halt. _I don’t know what to do._ Presses his forehead to Hannibal’s nape in sudden anguish. His words, when at last he finds them, are muffled.

‘I didn’t come here for this.’

‘No.’ Slowly, Hannibal turns, eyes soft. ‘You came to test me and play the coquette.’

 _And lay a trap._

The words remain unsaid, but their cold truth slices the air. Reality, unwelcome and unwanted. Only one way to ward it off. Will takes the half step necessary to press himself close, winds his arms around Hannibal’s waist. 

‘And now I’m adapting.’ Lifts his face, lips parting in blatant invitation. The slow tease of tongues reignites hunger. Hannibal’s dripping cock is making a mess of his pants. Will plucks at the damp material. ‘Take these off.’

Hannibal complies, outwardly serene but for the slight shallowness of his breathing, pastel pink smears painting his cheekbones. Pants discarded, he grasps the hem of his sweater and peels upward, shirt and all. In the firelight, his skin is bronze, shadows mapping the dips and curves of chest and stomach and hips, dusky nipples visible through dark body hair shot through with silver. Entirely unselfconscious. Obscenely beautiful.

_Did he who made the lamb make thee?_

Gaze greedy, Will shoves down his own pants and boxers, unbuttons his shirt with fumbling fingers, toes off his shoes and kicks the untidy bundle of clothing aside. 

‘May I?’ Hand half-outstretched. Ridiculous, this careful chivalry, after all the ways they’ve ripped into each other. Still, he waits.

‘You may.’ Gaze gleaming gold, Hannibal reaches out and guides Will’s hand to press over a heart that thuds. _For me._ ‘Touch me, Will.’

The pleasure then of slow exploration. Crisp hair, warm skin. Small nipples hardening beneath curious fingertips. He steps forward to invade Hannibal’s space entirely and their cocks brush. Will gasps. Hitches his thigh to press into Hannibal’s side. Fingers curl beneath his knee, pulling him up and in. _Tighter._ His hips begin an urgent, involuntary circling. The friction is bliss. The need to join with his monster, overwhelming. Hannibal cups the back of his head, pulls him in for a deep kiss. Will rakes his nails down Hannibal’s back, across the firm curves of his ass. Dips his fingers and rubs gently around the tight little rim. 

Now, at last, hesitation. ‘Will, my body isn’t designed like yours. I need -’

‘I know what you need.’ The words feel thick on his tongue. He’s drunk on the feel and taste of the man he’s supposed to be hunting. Slips his hand between them to trail through the copious slick coating his inner thighs. And back to stroke softly, softly, until nails dig into his scalp and words are hissed against his ear.

‘Yes, Will.’

 _Yes, yes._

Fingertips seek tentatively. This is unknown territory, and elation spikes with every noise of encouragement and groan of enjoyment. But Hannibal is no passive partner. He hitches himself up onto the desk, pulling Will with him, large hands roaming with greedy intent. Soon, Will is writhing atop him and there’s slick everywhere and it’s so perfect it scares the shit out of him.

And when they’re chest to chest across the desk, Will pressing in deep, Hannibal clenching around him in a velvet squeeze that sparks stars behind his lids, he knows that he’s lost whatever battle he was fighting. But how can this be called defeat? To hold captive such a marvellous creature, impaled and slack-jawed with pleasure. Strong muscles contract around him and he groans, thrusts frantic as he chases sweet release. Spills his seed and mouths adoration against the damp column of Hannibal’s neck. Seconds later, Hannibal shudders wetness in uncontrolled spurts that paint both of their torsos. 

For a moment, peacefulness. Will rests his forehead against Hannibal’s shoulder and breathes in sweat and salt. It’s clean, uncomplicated. No overwhelming scent triggered by biology. Just Hannibal. Contentment grows with the gradual synchronisation of their heartbeats. Symbiosis.

Inevitably, the unforgiving planes and edges of their makeshift bed take a toll on sore muscles; and as physical discomfort kicks in, Will lifts his head, eyes rueful. 

‘We should relocate.’

‘Mm.’ 

By slow degrees, they move. Eyes cling and shoulders brush. In the shower, a silent, mutual grooming. And afterwards, costumed once more as therapist and patient, they resume their usual seats. Comfort in the familiar. 

Except…

The sight of Hannibal once again polished and suited - buttoned up, closed off - sends Will’s stomach roiling in unexpected discontent. Wants to say, ‘Come over here.’ Wants to go to _him_ , kneel at his feet, part his thighs and swallow him down until they’re both hard and panting again. The craving for salty flesh beneath his tongue grows stronger as they sit, watching each other across the chasm. Will breaks first and doesn’t even care.

‘I don’t want to do this.’

A raised brow. ‘This?’

Will gestures back and forth between them. ‘This pantomime of politeness.’

Eyes narrow. ‘This is what you said you wanted, Will.’

‘Yeah, I said a lot. So did you. But things changed when you milked my cock and came all over us both.’

There is no variation in Hannibal’s demeanour. No alteration of his expression but for two immensely satisfying slashes of scarlet. 

It’s enough.

Will holds out his hand. ‘Come here.’

***

**Baltimore, Maryland. Hannibal Lecter’s bedroom. Eleven pm.**

‘I need to know if you're going to try to kill me again, Will.’

The words are a soft rumble against Will’s cheek. He can’t suppress a grin. Shifts to plant a kiss in the centre of Hannibal’s sweat-sheened chest. Looks up through thoroughly rumpled curls, mischievous in victory. 

‘I don't want to kill you anymore, Doctor Lecter. Not now that I finally find you interesting.’

Fondness creases Hannibal’s eyes, yet he is watchful as he comments, ‘Jack will be disappointed.’

‘You don’t know the half of it.’ Will pushes aside the twisted sheets with his foot, slides his knee between both of Hannibal’s. ‘Or maybe you do.’ His thumb finds a nipple, rubs slowly. 

‘The honey trap was his idea?’

Will pouts at the very thought. ‘No, it was mine.’ He feathers kisses up Hannibal’s throat. ‘I thought it would amuse you.’

‘And lure me.’

‘Of course.’ Bites gently at Hannibal’s lower lip. ‘But the best laid plans…’

Without warning, Hannibal rolls him over, and he’s silenced by a thorough ravishing, insistent tongue and lips exploring his mouth until he’s lax with pleasure beneath the onslaught. 

‘I believe a new plan is in order.’ 

Will runs his tongue across kiss-swollen lips just to watch Hannibal’s eyes darken again. ‘I’m open to that.’

‘A tour of Europe, perhaps.’

‘Uh uh.’ Strokes slowly across the curve of Hannibal’s ass, down one thigh, up again. ‘Starting where?’

‘I thought Paris.’ An enigmatic smile. ‘A young acquaintance has expressed a desire to study at the Sorbonne, and I am of a mind to assist them. We could drop them off - help settle them in.’

Will shoots him a quizzical look. ‘You’re being very mysterious.’

‘Not for long.’ Hannibal noses against his throat. ‘It’s all about timing, Will.’

_And trust, right?_

Arches his neck, baring himself. A silent message of acceptance and reciprocation. 

Hannibal’s hands snare him around the waist. ‘In the meantime, I have a request.’

Hums in amusement. ‘I hardly dare ask.’ 

An uncharacteristic uncertainty in the pause that follows. ‘I can’t offer you what an Alpha could. Bonding, breeding.’

Will scoffs. ‘The whole cliché.’ But he allows a conciliatory kiss. 

‘I had to be sure.’

‘I’m thirty-eight years old, Hannibal. If I wanted an Alpha, I would have one.’ Stretches, luxuriating in the pleasing weight of the mate he has chosen. Not man, not monster, not Beta. Hannibal.

Hannibal’s eyes are slumbrous. ‘Yes, you would.’ Devotion in every syllable. ‘Still, I want to give you pleasure, Will.’ Puts his lips to Will’s ear and whispers, ‘As you have pleasured me.’

Hannibal, inside him. Filling the empty spaces. Claiming him as he has twice now claimed Hannibal. Turns his head, eyes searching. ‘Quid pro quo?’

The adoration in Hannibal’s gaze steals his breath. ‘As I love you quite hopelessly, it seems only fair.’

Will closes his eyes, assailed by an emotion he is no longer afraid to name. Smiles against Hannibal’s lips.

‘Then earn it, my love.’


End file.
